Talk about Ugly part 1: Terms of Life

As I had expected, my previous post struck some nerves, apparently. And also as I had expected, it has raised more questions and debate than it laid to rest. At this point, I intend to elaborate on my previous “Big Ugly” abortion post in three additional posts focusing on specific angles: a primer of terms (this post), misconceptions, and the law of it. Of course, I encourage and welcome discussion. (Just forgive me if I am slow to respond since the next couple days (and weeks) will be pretty busy for me.)


Terms of Life

In order to help minimize arguments based on semantics, I would like to clarify some of the terms generally tossed around relating to the abortion debate.

Abortion – Wikipedia defines abortion as “the termination of a pregnancy by the removal or expulsion of an embryo or fetus from the uterus, resulting in or caused by its death.” Though an abortion can occur naturally due to complications, I will use it solely to refer to induced abortions. Should the subject of a natural or spontaneous abortion arise, I will refer to it as a “miscarriage.”

Pro-Life – Generally used interchangeably with anti-abortion, pro-life traditionally refers specifically to human life. Wikipedia states: “The term describes the political and ethical view which maintains that fetuses and embryos are human beings, and therefore have a right to live.” I have heard arguments that individuals are personally concurrently pro-life and pro-choice; for the sake of clarity, let’s limit “pro-life” to the belief that all human life, from conception to natural death, should be protected by law.

Pro-Choice – According to Wikipedia, pro-choice as the “view that a woman should have complete control over her fertility and the choice to continue or terminate a pregnancy.” As I state above, some people claim to be pro-life and pro-choice concurrently; for the sake of clarity, I will limit “pro-choice” to refer to those who believe a woman’s productive “rights” should be protected over the rights of an unborn child.

Pro-Abortion – In favor of abortion. Generally, this term is used interchangeably with pro-choice. I have found, however, that most pro-choice people are not actually in favor of abortion itself, just the “right” for “someone else” to have one. In the event that it comes up in this or subsequent blogs, it will refer specifically to proponents of abortion. Like maybe this guy.

Types of Abortion

Please note this is by no means comprehensive!

Medical Abortion – Abortion by means of drugs or a combination of drugs.

Surgical Abortion – This is the ending of a pregnancy by surgical means, such as MVA, D&C, Saline Abortion or Partial Birth Abortion.

Late-Term Abortion – As the term suggests, a Late-Term Abortion is an abortion performed late in the pregnancy. Sources differ in what “late” refers to, with some stating “after 12 weeks,” others saying “after 16 weeks,” and the majority stating it refers to “after 20 weeks.” Should the issue come up, I will consider it to mean “after 20 weeks gestation.”

Partial Birth Abortion – Formally known as intact dilation and extraction or IDX, partial birth abortion has been used for late-term abortions.

Saline Abortion – Saline Abortion is a term occasionally used to refer to the broader term “Instillation abortion.” Instillation abortion is a method used during the second and third trimesters, by injecting a chemical (such as saline) solution into the amniotic fluid to cause uterine contractions. The chemical solution burns the baby before causing the mother to expel the child.

Manual Vacuum aspiration (MVA) – Abortion by means of a vacuum used to literally suck the baby from the mother’s womb. This is the most common type of abortion and is generally used in the first 12 weeks of pregnancy.

Dilation and curettage (D&C) – According to Wikipedia, D&C is “the second most common method of abortion, is a standard gynecological procedure performed for a variety of reasons, including examination of the uterine lining for possible malignancy, investigation of abnormal bleeding, and abortion.” This is generally limited to the first trimester or approximately 13 weeks of pregnancy.

Selected Related Law and Legislation

Roe V. Wade – The landmark Supreme Court decision of January 22, 1973, which has shaped debate about abortion in America ever since. Google it for the details if you’re not familiar with it, or click the term for the Wikipedia entry.

Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) – Wikipedia sums up the FOCA as “a bill in the United States Congress which, if enacted, would abolish all restrictions and limitations on the right of women in the United States to have an abortion, whether at the State or Federal level.” By eliminating all restrictions and limitations, the FOCA would also “nullify the types of abortion laws that the Supreme Court has said are permitted under Roe v. Wade.” (Johnson)

Born Alive Infants Protection Act – An act of Congress to protect infants who were born alive as a result of an induced abortion.

Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act (PBA Ban) - A United States law prohibiting abortion by means of IDX.

Stay tuned for “Talk about Ugly pt. 2: misConceptions.”

Conservatively, I speak

Some people are comfortable on the floor, be it a dance or a debate. Some like picking fights. Some simply aren't afraid of being heard.

Then there are the rest of us. Those who, no matter how comfortable they might feel in their own skin, would rather die than have a spotlight on them. We're the ones who would forget how to spell "the" at a spelling bee, the self-conscious stutterers, the stage-frightened, the wusses.

"Hi, I'm Julie, and I'm a chickenlittleshit."

I fool some people, sometimes. Maybe even most people most of the time. For instance, I stutter sometimes. Not often, but enough to be self-conscious of it, enough that I hear it and know to take my time speaking to avoid it; I don't think even my husband or mother has picked up on that. Also, I do pretty well at poetry readings. If I know and am comfortable with my material, I can "comfortably" speak in front of a crowd of thousands. I've done it. I was shaking, but my voice was steady.

However, I still avoid jumping into shark infested waters of public political or religious debate. Which is a shame. On some levels at least. No matter how adamantly I might oppose an opinion, I am more likely passively volunteer to be the attacked straw man than to be the vocal minority. Heck, I'm not even likely to be a member of the vocal majority.

So while I applaud and encourage the freedom of expression, I self-censor. I don't bring up the fact that I don't think Obama is a god, or that even though a close family member once admitted to thinking Hillary might be the Antichrist and another very Republican family member voted for Obama to thwart Hillary, I would rather have had Hillary as the democratic nominee than Obama. Nor do I mention that, given the options, I'll vote for McCain when the time comes.

But then I think about how much of elections is about name recognition and general publicity. And I wonder what Jane Undecided might think as she surfs through cyberspace. The "Yes McCain Can" posts are a little less visible than those on the other guy. Mostly because new things, new people, changes are exciting. So people will talk and write about the new thing more, with more passion. What happens to the old guy? What about those who just might vote for him?

I'm asking these questions of myself as much as they're rhetorical. A lot of this has to do with reconciling my own largely conservative -- though not necessarily "Republican"-- beliefs with the ballot I'll cast in November. And with each ballot thereafter. I do this in hopes that maybe once I know better what I believe and how those beliefs translate into political ideology, maybe then I'll be ready to voice them more freely, without fear of the inevitable cyber-smackdown.

*****

In other news, I wrote a poem today as promised; "Happen" (which may be retitled) can be read by logging into shakespearesmonkeys.com.

"Do you sing?"

A few nights ago -- or mornings, rather -- Jason Mraz met me in my subconscious again. Even as my husband spooned me in the stolen moments before the alarm went off, I couldn't help but savor the interactive screenplay in my head.

In my dream, I was at an outdoor concert, one where the parking lot was a field constrained by woods. It was nearing the end of a clear summer day. Near the woodline, I could feel the cool breath of evening, but still, the air was heavy with the heat and humidity of late July in Pennsylvania.

The concert was nearing an end, and Jason had just "disappeared" from the stage though the show continued; most of the crowd was still at the stage. I, however, was in the parking lot. I had missed the very end of Jason's set in hopes of catching up with him at the bus. Sure enough, as he sprinted to the bus, somehow without an entourage or gaggle of starstruck fans, I was able to catch him. He had a huge, black afro wig in hand, presumably to disguise himself as he made his great escape. (At this point, we could hear that the crowds were on their way.) I asked if he had a minute before he got on the bus. He obliged, stressing though, that it needed to be quick. I introduced myself as being a huge fan, and thanked him for his influence and inspiration.

He was sweet and thanked me. And then he asked:

"Do you sing?"

I started babbling, "No, I mean, I was in chorus in high school, but not because I was any good, just because they needed people for the ensemble."

As I did what I do in real life, talking myself in circles, he slipped the hilariously conspicuous "disguise" head piece onto his head.



And right about then, my alarm went off.

I hit snooze and tried to go back to dreamland. Alas, it was gone. All but that line:

"Do you sing?"

That's really stuck with me. Even as I babbled in my dream, I knew I wasn't answering the question my subconscious-posing-as-mraz asked.

***

As a kid at Sts. Peter & Paul Catholic school, Mrs. Zana, our music teacher once told the class, "When you sing, it's like praying twice." I didn't know then that she was paraphrasing, St. Augustine: "Qui cantat, bis orat" or"To sing once is to pray twice." Years and years later, Mraz raised the point again in his "1000 Mother******s."

The sentiment has stuck with me along with Psalm 100:1: "Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands." Take those along with the image of God as Loving Father, braid those three thoughts, and you have one of one of my deepest "faith roots." It makes me smile to hear someone at church singing loudly off-key. (Often I'm just hearing myself.) It makes me think of how much I love to hear my children (neither of whom could be mistaken for members of the Von Trapp family) sing with abandon. I think their songs are something like what we give to God, when we sing with our hearts.

But I noticed that I haven't really been singing lately. I mean, yes, I sing at church, along with the radio, and every word of "We Sing We Dance We Steal Things." But I haven't really been singing with intent, with my voice or otherwise. Really, my life has been a lot of humming lately.

I want to change that. I'm just not sure what song to sing.

So now, I ask you:

"Do you sing?"

Freedom, creatively speaking

Last October on my way to a poetry reading, stopped at a red light, I saw one of the coolest cars ever. OK, so maybe the car itself wasn't so cool. It was a primer-grey, boxy boat, maybe an Oldsmobile or Buick circa 1989. (I know this because I've owned a couple of those.) But the cool part was that it was a mobile art project: across the back, in about 4-inch tall white letters was the request to "Sign My Ride." Lucky enough to have my camera with me, I snapped a shot. But what the photo doesn't show clearly, in part because we were moving by the time I took the picture, is the wonderful "graffiti" covering the entire body of the car. Most of it appeared to be in sharpie, but a few more colorful signatures looked like nail polish, and I think I saw some stickers on there too. I loved it!

For some reason, a certain bumper sticker picture reminded me of this, and since then I've been reminded of the art of words around us, everywhere.

...

Last night I had the freeing opportunity to go out on a "date" with one of my best friends, sans hubbies and munchkins. We went out to dinner, and between lots of great food and mediocre service, we talked and talked and turned red with laughter. We covered everything from "Wicked" fanfiction to old college professors to the profound things four-year-olds can say to booty shorts to the logistics of sex. We talked about the novels she's going to write and the shoes I'm going to design and one of Oz's alter dimensions (the red one), Az. At one point I was having such a hard time catching my breath that I was afraid cannoli would come out my nose. Really. (Maybe that explains the less than stellar service: maybe our server was afraid of us.)

After I drove her back home to a sleeping household, we sat in the car in the driveway and talked for another hour and a half. We talked politics and religion and some more about our kids. We talked about the couple who had been getting it on in broad daylight in a car the pool parking lot. And we talked more about those shoes. It was as good as -- or maybe even better than -- being back in college, doing art projects, talking, and eating ramen at 2 AM.

Every woman should have a good date with her best girlfriend every month or so... just to keep her in check, her creative juices flowing, and her heart light. Even at the risk of clogging her nose with cannoli.

The middle: where to start

What if you knew you were immortal ... as long as you never fell asleep? What if you knew that the second you hit REM, you would leave your fleshy confines, never to return?

To what lengths would you stay awake? Would you "not go gently into that good night"? Or would you do what you could to tie up loose ends before welcoming the sleep to end all sleep?

At one point in my life, there was no question that I would welcome, not fight Dylan Thomas' "good night." But since then, I have celebrated a few more birthdays, married my (somewhat unlikely) soulmate, and been blessed with two amazing children. I've managed a handful of creative accomplishments that -- noteworthy or not -- I am proud of. All of these things are attachments of sorts, "loose ends" I can't tie up, no matter how much time I might be given.

But still there are days I live for sleep.

I don't know where I'm going with this.

...

A week ago, my maternal grandfather, Grandpap R. passed away. Prior to his death, he had been in the ICU about 10 days, including a few days of heavy sedation -- meaning he was unconscious.

...

As I write this, "Details in the Fabric" is playing.

"Hold your own,
know your name,
and go your own way
everything will be fine..."

...

So I went up to PA this past Wednesday & Thursday for the funeral. As strange as it might sound, it was probably the "happiest" funeral I have ever been to. That's not to say all eyes were dry. But it was full of laughter as well. It was a family reunion.

God, I hope it's not our last.

It was wonderful, really. I think 14 of the 16 grandchildren made it in (in addition to all 7 of his children), many of whom I haven't seen in years. It's strange and amazing that we're all part of the same family. Really, in many cases we're more different than we are the same. But then you notice his jawline, her laugh, the way the three of them stand just like their mother who got it from Grandma. ... And somehow we're all family again.

...

I think this is the first time I've really cried yet about this. Not that I've been holding back or in or anything. But I've been holding up and keeping busy. Not as a defense, but as a side effect of life. Even up there at the funeral, I took our youngest (and only him) since he could fly free on my lap, so I was preoccupied with him, I guess. At the viewing, it was all foreign and strange to me. The body in the casket was a wax man with too much make-up. I had absolutely no emotional attachment to him. But to the right was their wedding picture. And I got choked up over that, but that was it.

Mom pointed out that difference (between his as opposed to my grandmother's death 18 years ago) is the difference between a full, long life well lived and one cut too short.

...

As a point of public note, I request that no roses or chrysanthemums be included in any arrangements for my funeral when that comes. Wait, no. Stick with the no chrysanthemums (mums are ok, but those big ones, no), but let's restrict the roses to the pretty, less fragrant mini roses: the smell of roses says funeral to me. I hate it. As soon as I opened the door to the funeral home the first time there, it hit me, like a blast of hot air from inside a car that's been sitting in the July sun all day.

I prefer lilacs be sent in lieu of roses.

I prefer donations to the pro-life charity of your choice be sent in lieu of flowers in general.

No, I'm not quite dead yet. But we never know when this information could actually be relevant.

...

Ever just feel like screaming out of frustration? I mean, I feel like I'm grinding my gears and spinning my wheels. I feel like there's so much I'm supposed to do with my life. I feel like there's something big out there I'm supposed to be a part of. But I don't know what or where it is. How does one work toward a goal she can't define?

"Go your own way."

...which would be ...?

I refuse to choose.

As most of my friends will tell you, I am often indecisive. I prefer not to rock the boat and am usually pretty relaxed and comfortable with just going with the flow. I mean, really, what difference does it make in the grand scheme of things if we have Mexican or Italian for dinner. Really.

I have been known to procrastinate through indecision. I have probably made far more decisions through inaction than action. I'm not proud of that, but that's a fault of mine that I'll admit to as well.

But being indecisive is far different than refusing to choose.

Lately, particularly with the election year at hand, this has been weighing heavily on my heart and mind. I had a short conversation with my sister about it recently, and I mentioned it in comments on some other blogs. My issue is this: Why is it a conflict of interests to be in favor of "less government" and humane treatment of animals? Why is it against someone else's first amendment rights if I express mine by wearing a crucifix on a chain to a public school? Why should I have to choose between being "green" or pro-life?

As I've gone into a little bit before, I am Catholic and try to live my life with a Christian worldview. So, that's where I am coming from, though I have no doubt that this will apply to other worldviews as well.

I try to live by the adage that one should leave things as good as or better than he or she found them. (Granted, the state of my housekeeping rarely reflects that, but I'm working on it.) One way that I've been acting on that is by, frankly, doing some of my coworkers' recycling. It's kinda gross, but if I see someone's tossed a pop can in the trash (and it's still exposed -- I'm not dumpster diving yet), I'll pick it out & toss it in the recycling bin. When we had catering in last week, rather than throwing out all of the "disposable" containers & platters, I brought them home to rinse & freecycle. I'm starting a compost pile at the treeline of our property. And I am really trying to cut down my extended shower time.

... does that make me a tree-hugging hippie? Not really.

In addition to being a traditional employee, I am also a business owner. As such I believe capitalism, in general, is a good thing. Likewise, I disagree that having the government put its fingers in every orifice of our lives is a good thing. For example, I do not thing it's a good idea to socialize health care. I think that idea about a centralized medical database is something UGLY waiting to happen. (Have you ever been to the DMV? What makes anyone think that any other government run facility will run more smoothly?)

... does that make me corporate America? Hardly.

To carry on the previous example, I believe we need some kind of health care reform. I also believe businesses, big and small, need to take more responsibility for their actions. From simply recycling paper to using less by going "paperless" to using less energy, less water, to encouraging telecommuting when appropriate, etc. Meanwhile, there's the corporate social responsibilities. Some industries are addressing concerns on their own, without obligation to government; take for instance the diamond industry's Kimberly Process. The Fair Trade movement, such as with Global Exchange, is addressing this -- slowly true, but without the government telling them to. I guess what I'm saying here is that I think we all have an obligation as consumers to express to companies that it's important to us that they act responsibly. And then put our money where our mouths are.

... I'm working on that.

I don't agree with the war in Iraq. But I think we have a responsibility to our troops, of course, not to be irresponsible about pulling out. Also, I think we have a responsibility to the citizens there, that we don't leave them high and dry now that we've "given" them democracy a representational government.

...does that mean I'm pro-war? pro-big-military? ... or pro-peace?

I've seen those bumper stickers that say "Who Would Jesus Bomb?" They make me angry, as if it's that simple. Do those same people sporting that bumper sticker think we should have just let Hitler run his course? Of course, that's the extreme, but still, it's frustrating. And I'm rambling.

I have been doing more of that in this post than I had intended, and it's gotten kinda long, but I'm still not quite ready to call it quits...

Because I still haven't gotten into my pro-life feminism (at least not in this post), carnivorously humane treatment of animals, or patriotism for a wonderful nation that needs a lot of work.

But it's past my bedtime & I have work to do yet, so I'll shut up for now while hoping that someday there'll be a presidential candidate I'll feel truly comfortable voting for.

PS - This is the article that got me riled up earlier today. And this (below) is the video that gave me chills.

rainbow in the rear view

[from my 'real' journal]
2/14/2008 1AM

Driving home from work today, there was a little rain. As I drove south on 77, right after the state line, the clouds broke enough for the sun to stream through the west side of the highway. That in and of itself was beautiful.

I was singing along with "No Doubling Back" by Jason Mraz when I happened to literally look back. I saw it first in my side view mirror. I confirmed what I'd seen with a glance in the rear view mirror: a huge, vibrant rainbow met the road behind me.

I smiled, enjoying the beauty & the coincidence -- the wonderful interplay of the song, the view, and my introspection.

It's time for me to move forward, [whether I feel ready or not] knowing I've got God's promise behind me.

* * * * *

I have been meaning to post the above journal entry here since it happened a full week ago, but I haven't had the time to do it "right." I know, in my first post this year, I said I wouldn't let not having a picture hold me back from posting, but it felt really important to me for this one. Even if the picture isn't that great, I really wanted to at least scan the original entry (which is the text in the image).

This rainbow thing has been on my mind pretty consistently since it happened. I was driving home from work, like I'd said. The sky above was dark with storm clouds, and I'd gone through some rain right after leaving work: big, fat drops -- not a downpour, but heavy from black skies. But right about where the highway crosses from North Carolina into South Carolina, the clouds broke to the west -- the right side of the highway -- and since it was about 5:30 PM, the sun was low in the sky and close to setting. Blinding, yellow sunshine shone in through the passenger side window and cast eerily long shadows of the treeline across the road. It was beautiful.

My mp3 player on shuffle, "No Doubling Back" was playing -- I think it started right around when the rain stopped. Even then I didn't grasp the full "coincidence" of the lyrics, but later I looked them up. Some of the lyrics I found to be more than fitting:

I would like to think that you'd know your way
we have dodged the ropes of rain...

...I wanna stay wet for a little bit longer...

...I know this ain't the way I planned it
I guess I ain't the great romantic
and i'm not doubling back now
no doubling back
doubling back now...

...when it rains it's sure to pour...

While my "issues" aren't romantically related, the fact is, the rain imagery and "no doubling back" lyric echoed my situation quite well.

Well, I was smiling, wishing my phone was a camera phone, singing along to the refrain (since it was a new-to-me song at that point), when I glanced in the side mirror and saw the rainbow. Then I saw it in the rear view mirror. I don't know about anyone else, but rainbows always raise my spirits. Part of it, I think, ties to the Biblical symbolism -- I mean, Noah's Ark is one of the first Bible stories kids learn, so it's deep rooted. (And really, for me it's a Biblical reference, but the flood thing is such a far-reaching myth, touching so many cultures, I believe it really is part of our collective memory.) Anyhow, the other part of it is the simple fact that they're beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. A rainbow, for me, is such an awesome "God experience," when I feel truly connected with God as Creator. It gives me goosebumps.

So with [the symbol of] God's promise behind me while I sang along "no doubling back now," I drove home. I know I have to move forward. I can't stay where I am. And as nervous as I am about the stuff I need to do, I know it will work out -- I've seen, felt, the promise to prove it.

* * * * *

I saw another rainbow coming home from work today. It was faint, partial, & very high in the sky, but it was there.

a previously censored portion of my "I like bacon" post

I considered opening this with a disclaimer, but then I remembered: this is my blog, and I'm not forcing anyone to read it, let alone agree with it. So here goes.

I am Catholic, an actual Catholic who believes & agrees with the Pope. (Ok, at least most of the time. There are, admittedly, some doctrines I struggle with.) With that in mind, Pope Benedict summed up so much of my Catholic-worldview beliefs in his message delivered on the World Day of Peace this year (January 1, 2008):

Respecting the environment does not mean considering material or animal nature more important than man. Rather, it means not selfishly considering nature to be at the complete disposal of our own interests...

With that context, we should respect and be good stewards of our environment, but not at the expense of human life; we should respect and have compassion for all God's creatures, but, again, not at the expense of human beings.

One question this raises for me is whether we should eat meat, since we can survive without it. I'm still not going to expound on that issue yet.

The bigger issue for me, though, is the hypocrisy that I have encountered regarding the value of animal life versus that of human life. I know there will be some out there who'll take offense to my separation of the two, but human beings are not just "other animals," and animals are not human and should not be afforded the same rights as human beings. They deserve humane treatment, yes, absolutely, but not human rights.

However, human life deserves human rights.

Anyone who knows me knows I am adamantly pro-life, something that is reflective of my Catholic beliefs, but that is based in much more than religion for me. That's not to say I can't put myself in the place of the single woman facing an unplanned pregnancy, the impregnated rape victim, or the woman with health issues that could prevent her from carrying a baby full-term safely. However, as empathetic and codependent as I am, I know in my core that human life begins at conception.

A little over a month ago on December 31st, I had the opportunity to visit the Body Worlds exhibit while it was in Charlotte. The exhibit was one of the most amazing, grotesquely beautiful things I have ever seen. It was uncomfortable to view, yet incredibly magnetic. (This blog covers the exhibit well.) One part of the exhibit focused on fetal development. The curtained off area included human embryos from 4 through 8 weeks, fetuses from 16 weeks (I think) through 34 weeks, and a woman who was eight months pregnant, with her in utero baby exposed. As awesome (and hard to take) as the pregnant woman and babies were, the embryos probably amazed me most: I'd read it before and seen photographs, but to see the spine on a 4 week old* embryonic baby and to see the fingers on an 8 week old baby the size of a nickel, there is no doubt that these are children.

So, back to the beginning: where I see hypocrisy is in those people who are adamant animal rights advocates...and card-carrying pro-Roe supporters. I have a hard time understanding how someone can argue that hogs should have the right to move in their pens without being passionate that a child has a right to live.

My issue is really that simple.

---

* A baby's gestational age is calculated from the mother's last menses, typically about 2 weeks before her ovulation. Hence, a baby is 2 weeks old gestationally before s/he is even conceived! For me, that fits so perfectly with Jeremiah 1:5: "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you."

my "HI THERE" addendum

So since I posted my "hello" in the general forum, I've been thinking of things I didn't say that maybe might have been worth mentioning. Or not. Either way, here's more dirt on me.

I prefer LONG hot showers over baths.

I am lazy and procrastinate and sleep too much.

As a little kid, I thought I wanted to be a doctor. It sounded like a good answer. I'd never heard anyone say they wanted to be an "artist" when they grew up. Then I learned I don't handle blood well. Kinda threw a kink in the works.

I liked chemistry in high school. I also liked and did well in geometry and trig. Physics was ok, calculus beat me up. History, well, let's just leave it as that. However, I do often enjoy that channel.

I am not convinced that GW is the worst president in history, nor is he the best. He is human.

I am registered Republican. I am pro-life and pro-woman. I subscribe completely to the beliefs and causes of Feminists For Life and believe that the founders of feminism would be appalled at where the movement has gone. In theory, I am opposed to the death penalty. I believe in small government, low taxes, capitalism, and that we all need to take responsibility for our own actions. Sometimes for our ancestors' actions, sometimes for our children's. But not always.

I believe in private and individual charity, because sometimes the ends WON'T meet. But I also believe in hard work and in dealing with the consequences of the lack of it. I feel guilty for my tenancy towards slacking.

I believe in God, Christ, a "Catholic" (universal) church, and the rest of the Apostles Creed. I do not worship Mary, though I do honor her. I believe in the virgin birth of Christ, but struggle with "The Immaculate Conception" of Mary. I also am not completely convinced that Jesus was the only son of Mary. But I don't think it's worth arguing against.

It took an agnostic boyfriend to help me fully claim my Catholic faith. I meant enough to him that he came to Mass with me. We wrote bad poetry to each other in a journal we passed back and forth. Considering how poorly matched we were, it really was a pretty healthy relationship. He is still a dear friend with whom I wish I were in better touch.

I hate severing relationships. To a fault. I hate double standards but can understand occasional exceptions to rules. I have high standards for people, especially in terms of respect. You have my respect until you lose it -- not the other way around. It takes a lot for me to write someone off. I forgive easily and often. But I am highly offended by consistent inconsiderations.

I consider creativity a spiritual language. I identify with GOD as Creator and Artist. The concept that we are all intentional creations, pieces of artwork, makes me feel warm inside. I treat others better, I think, when I remember this.

My mother says she knew I would be an artist when I made slippers for my doll out of paperboard and a little stapler when I was three. Why a 3-year-old had a stapler is beyond me, but it was one of my favorite art-tools. I made a series of paper "marionettes" with jointed limbs sometime around age 5. I wrote my first poem when I was 8.

I applied to the PA Governor's School of the Arts for Visual Art in my Sophomore year in HS. I was accepted as an alternate but never called. The following year, I applied in both Art and Creative Writing. I made it to the "final" interview for both but was not accepted for either. I cried so hard when I found out. I felt a failure. I'm still pissed off about it.

*Correction, I forgive easily and often, except for myself.

I went to college 500 miles from home on an academic scholarship with an a small art scholarship supplement. I got a BA in art, not a BFA. Most people don't know the difference. I am angry with myself about that too, though, the fact that I did not get the BFA. Mostly because I let a particular professor get to me. Also because I was dealing with "mild" depression.

I do believe there is a place for drugs in treating depression, but I also believe they are overused.

There is one nude picture of me on the internet. As far as I know, it's the only nude picture that's ever been taken of me, aside from my infancy. The picture is not hard to find, nor is it flattering. Yet, I approve of it. It is a self-portrait.

I currently work at a job that I liked better when I started it. I now feel it is a waste of my time and their money, but I still need their money, so I won't tell them that yet.

I love my husband. I LOVE my husband. I love him deeply and completely, and it amazes me that it took me so long to consider giving him a chance. I realize he is not perfect. But he is a perfect partner. He is supportive, understanding, patient, and goofy. There are things I'd like to change about him, I think, but I know I can't, so I don't try. I think we are both happier for that. He is a fantastic daddy.

Even before realizing I didn't want to be a doctor when I grew up, I knew I wanted to be a mother. I had never considered otherwise. Being a mother has been the most fulfilling experience of my existence so far.

However, I don't know if it's the predominant influence in my writing yet. I think that role is divided between two experiences: the death of my maternal grandmother when I was nine, and a less-than-favorable prematurely physical relationship when I was 18.

I had my first kiss too early and too late at 18. I have had intercourse with only my husband.

I enjoy pretzel sticks with my vanilla ice cream, french fries with my Wendy's Frosty: salty-sweet makes me happy.

I love my cats, but I don't know if I'll adopt more when they're gone.

Dreams weigh heavily on me. I hold onto them for years afterward, if I can remember them at all. I still remember a nightmare I had in preschool or kindergarten. I remember going to my parents' bed because of it. It was something about great big dancing hamburgers.

I don't read as much as I'd like. I forget most that I do read. But I do enjoy reading. I admire JK Rowling.

In middle school I had decided my life career goal was to win both the Caldecott and Newberry awards. I still consider that. But my focus is elsewhere.

For now, I am happy to spend time watching VeggieTales with my son, writing during his naptimes.

Fierce belief: gift or poison?

So I'm reading stuff on www.iusedtobelieve.comand I can't help but think of the whole Santa disillusionment for me. I mean, that happened when I was 9, and I still have issues with it... I still feel bitter about how I found out, etc. I guess I just needed something to hold onto then.

Can you all keep a secret? Because I'm about to share something that has the potential to be incredibly embarrassing. I was so naive... here goes...

So that year when I was 9, mom was pregnant with my brother & my grandma was dying of cancer. It seemed like forever that Grandma was in the hospital, but I learned later that it was only a span of about 2 weeks between when she went in and when she passed away. That was in September. Anyhow, so less than 2 months after Grandma died, my brother was born. (That was the beginning of November.) So there was a lot going on in my 9-yr-old life.
Meanwhile, I still was a strong believer in the Bearded One. When the Debates would take place on the bus rides home from school, I couldn't help but argue his existence. (I guess it didn't help that I truly believed that one of our bus drivers was Santa himself... but that's another story altogether.) But not only did I believe Santa's existence, I believed that he had a special connection to God, heaven, and all things divine. I mean, I knew Santa was "St. Nicholas," and nothing short of a miracle would allow him to do what he did each year. So God Himself had to be in on the deal.

With that in mind, should it be any kind of surprise that I thought that he would be able to pass a message on to my deceased grandmother? I had written a letter to her on my good stationery and tucked it away to stick in my stocking on Christmas eve. Now, for years prior, my sister and I would make cards and such for Santa and stick them in our stockings before Christmas -- when he went to fill them he would find them. And Mom and Dad knew about those, so it was ok to put them in early in December. But this letter had to wait until Christmas eve: I didn't want Mom to find out about it. But Christmas Eve came and went too quickly, and so I forgot. I didn't worry too much though... because I knew he didn't just work on Christmas: he made the rounds too for St. Nicholas' Day and for Little Christmas. So as long as I put it in my stocking on the eve of Little Christmas he would get it.

Mom told me right after New Year's (right after I went back to school) the truth about Santa. I won't go into details about that here or now because that's not what this entry's about. But the short of it is that I learned the truth before I put that letter out for Santa. I guess I'm thankful for that -- I would have felt so embarrassed, and I'm willing to bet it would have been hard for mom to deal with then. I felt so broken though. Heck, as I write this, I still hold back tears. blah.

now remember... that all is a secret though. Right?

Sure.